


Intervention

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [14]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Afterlife, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Ghosts, Serious Injuries, he just needs this to be a better parent, no beta we typo like lois lane, no one dies though it's more like a severe talking to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: Bruce wakes to find himself in a room with John and Mary Grayson.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & John Grayson & Mary Grayson, John Grayson & Bruce Wayne, John Grayson/Mary Grayson, Mary Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622032
Comments: 23
Kudos: 320





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Ghost" square on my Batman Bingo card! For anon on tumblr who requested it~
> 
> Um. So. This fic. This took me a while to write (mostly because I had a Death Assignment From the Fifth Circle of Hell guys pray I at least get 50%) bc characterising these three when they're together is. So hard. This version is very different to my first draft, and I think it's better for it, but let me know what you think and how you might've characterised differently or had this fic go differently.
> 
> Disclaimer: still don't own DC

THIS FANFICTION IS HOSTED ON **ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN** , WHERE YOU CAN READ IT FOR **FREE**. IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON A DIFFERENT WEBSITE, IT WAS POSTED THERE **WITHOUT** THE AUTHOR’S CONSENT.

The room Bruce woke in was full of contradictions. It was white, a clear, pure white that some part of him logically knew was supposed to hurt his eyes but didn’t. There was nothing in the room to suggest it was a room, but there could be no other word for it. Bruce’s brain was stirring, but he was completely calm for what felt like the first time since his parents had died.

And the final problem: it appeared that Mary and John Grayson were standing in front of him.

Bruce was somehow standing when he’d previously been lying down. There was no bed behind him, but then the Graysons sat down in chairs that felt like they’d always been there.

“Hello, Mr Wayne,” John Grayson said. His voice was friendly, cheerful, even. Bruce had imagined his speech, to give a voice to Dick's stories, but somehow they all fell away with how _real_ this man was.

“Bruce, please,” Bruce said automatically, settling down in his own chair. It moulded to his body like it’d always been him; glancing down, it was the chair in his study.

“Bruce,” John said, nodding his head obligingly.

“We’ve waited a long time to meet you, Bruce,” Mary said. “I’m Mary, and this is my husband—”

“John,” Bruce interrupted. Alfred would be horrified. “You’re Dick’s parents.”

Mary’s mouth curved into a small smile. She and John were both very much at home here – in comparison, this felt like one of the most stressful meetings Bruce had ever had.

“I’m not alive anymore, then,” he said.

“Not exactly,” John told him. Bruce found himself examining his face – both their faces, and their mannerisms and tones and quirks – for signs of his son. “You’re just extremely close to it.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Bruce remembered the mission they’d been on, how it’d ended with him climbing into the Batmobile and setting it to autopilot as he sunk into oblivion. Maybe he was still there, in that car.

Nightwing was in Gotham tonight, patrolling with Robin. He hoped they were safe.

“You currently have three broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured wrist, and two stab wounds,” Mary told him.

“Would you like some tea?” John asked.

Bruce glanced down at the teacup and saucer he was holding out. A tray with tea and snacks was now on a coffee table between the three of them.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting it. It was the perfect blend.

“This is,” Mary glanced sideways at her husband, “a bit of an intervention. Given you make it out of this alive, that is.”

“An intervention?” Bruce frowned.

“Bruce, we appreciate you taking in Dick,” John began.

Oh. This was an intervention about _Dick_. Bruce fought to keep his face neutral, to hide the sinking in his chest. Because there had always been a niggling, in the back of his mind, about Mary and John and whether they would approve of him.

“But we need you to step up and be a better,” Mary’s voice faltered a little at the word, “father to him.”

Bruce’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come off as an excuse. “If this is about making him Robin—”

Mary waved a hand. “No, we came to terms with that a long time ago. We’re grateful, if we’re honest, that you made sure he didn’t get himself killed – or worse – trying to catch Zucco. We aren’t here to nag you about putting him in danger or anything. And, frankly, we’re proud.”

Bruce relaxed slightly. Something deep inside him eased at the words, at being given reassurance to something he’d never thought he’d have answers to.

“We just think you could stand to be a better parental figure,” John told him. “Not just to Dick – to Tim as well.”

Bruce blinked. “Tim?” he said. “Tim has a fath—”

“You know as well as we do that that man is his father through blood and nothing else,” John countered. Bruce couldn’t help seeing the similarities between him and Dick in the way he would clench his jaw, jut out his chin ever so slightly. “He needs someone in his life, someone he can look to. You need to step up.”

“We can’t be there for our son,” Mary said. “So we’re trusting you to.”

“What would you have me do, hug him three times a day?” Bruce asked shortly, irrationally angry at the thought of these people lecturing him about how—

But that was where the anger faded, because they were completely within their rights to lecture him. He was raising – had raised – _their_ son, and apparently a lot of it had fallen short. Bruce wished this ‘intervention’ had come a little earlier, back when Dick had been younger. It was difficult parenting a grown man.

“Yes,” Mary said with a laugh. “He’s older now, so maybe he’s changed, but Dick was always fond of hugs. Made it a mission to hug everyone in the circus at least once a day.”

Bruce knew Dick’s appreciation of hugs, knew that touch was an anchor he used. It’d been a lot easier before, to reach out and ruffle the boy’s hair, to squeeze his shoulder, to grab him round the middle as Dick used Bruce’s body like a climbing frame.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll hug him more.”

“Bruce,” John said. “You’re not getting it.”

But at that moment, something in Bruce’s ears popped and there was a rush of pain as the world before him faded in and out for a moment, glimpses of something dark and _familiar_ washing through in its place. Bruce heard muffled voices, but he couldn’t place any of them.

He jolted forward with a gasp, hands coming to grab at the handles of the chair he was sitting in.

Mary’s mouth was twisted, her lips the exact same as Dick’s. “It’s nearly time to make your decision,” she said.

“Decision?” Bruce asked, forcing his fingers to release.

“Whether to stay here, with us and the rest of the people you’ve lost over the years,” John’s eyes were sympathetic, “or to go back.”

Bruce’s heart ached at the thought of seeing Jason. Of seeing his own parents. All those countless faces who had died. He wondered if he’d see the people he had failed.

But Batman couldn’t give up. Not like this. Not when there was a _choice_ at hand. People needed him.

John seemed to see something in his face, because he nodded. “Now, where was I…” he muttered, leaning back and running a hand through his hair.

Bruce was finding pieces of his son everywhere in these two. He wondered how much of it was his own mind projecting, seeing things he wanted to see. He wondered if other people ever saw his mannerisms in his children, or if they simply didn’t look because of the lack of blood relation.

“Emotions,” Mary reminded him. Turning to Bruce, she said, with an amused glint in her eyes, “He’s been planning exactly how to deliver this ever since you arrived.”

John huffed. “Bruce,” he began, and immediately the weight of the room shifted. “In the bluntest way possible, you need to get out of your own head and into other people’s. And not just criminals. You’ve been teaching Dick how to survive ever since he came into your care, but you haven’t taught him how to live _well_. Children look to their parents for emotional support and guidance, but something has always held you back from providing it properly.”

“I apologise if you think I fell short in rai—”

“You know it too,” John interrupted.

And Bruce couldn’t argue, because he knew, deep within him, that John was right. There had always been a barrier between Bruce and the world, and despite often coming close to moving beyond it, he was never fully there. He could never truly join the _present_.

He didn’t say anything.

Mary exhaled, fiddling with a bracelet around her wrist. “We aren’t asking you to be perfect, Bruce,” she said. “We just want you to be in a position where you're able to provide what Dick – and now Tim – need. At this rate, it’s probably not going to be surprising if you end up with a couple more kids—” Bruce grunted at the thought of _more_ children, making her lips curve into a familiar smile, “but it’ll help _you_ as well. If you died, would you want your children to spend their whole life unable to move on from it?”

It wasn’t exactly a _choice_ , and Bruce opened his mouth to tell her that, when John spoke.

“We’re talking about something like _therapy_ ,” he said. “If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it to be a better parent. And, hell, if you think you don’t need to be a better parent, if you think that Dick’s already grown, and that Tim has a father of his own and a stepmother now, that Stephanie’s mother is alive and well, and Barbara has taken Cassandra under her own wing, then do it because it’s our last request of you, as a…co-parent to our son.”

“I…” Bruce didn’t know what to say. _I’ll try_ seemed too vague, too unbinding. But a promise? He—

It came back, the flashes. Bruce saw parts of the medbay in the Cave overlapping with the white room.

Mary’s mouth turned into a sad grimace, and she stood, moving towards Bruce. “Give this to Dick,” she whispered, pressing something into his hand. 

That was the last thing Bruce knew before he was opening his eyes, breath coming in short pants as he lurched upright.

Hands on his shoulders, pushing him down. Bruce fought against them, blindly thrashing until he heard a familiar voice.

“Whoa, Bruce, it’s okay! You’re in the Cave!”

Dick.

Bruce stilled, taking in the scene around him. He was lying in one of the cots in the medbay, and Dick was hunched over him with hands holding down Bruce. When Bruce turned his head, he could see Tim standing there by the Batcomputer, watching them with tense hands.

“You with me?” Dick asked, peering into Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce nodded, feeling the pain of his wounds hitting him. He gritted his teeth. “What happened?” he asked.

As Dick recounted his list of injuries, something a lot like déjà vu hit Bruce. And that was when he felt it.

There was a folded piece of paper in his hand.

Bruce lifted his hand up even as Dick continued, rambling slightly with his words and chewing his lip far more than usual. Bruce opened his hand and when he saw the writing on the envelope something in him settled, like it had been waiting for this moment for him to realise.

“What’s…” Dick frowned. “That wasn’t there before. I _know_ your hands were empty.”

“Dick,” Bruce said, but was at a loss for how to continue. He reached out until he found the controls for moving the bed, grimacing at the shift in his torso. A glare stopped Dick from intervening. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to believe me.”

Dick snorted, folding his arms. Without his mask on, and hair floppy and dishevelled from constant assault from his fingers, he looked younger than his years. “So business as usual, then.”

“This is for you,” Bruce said, handing him the envelope.

Dick eyed him, confused, as he reached out to take the letter, but the moment his gaze landed on the writing he froze, body going taut as a wire.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. His voice was completely blank, and Bruce winched inwardly, knowing that he’d been the one to teach Dick how to do that. Emotional issues indeed.

“That’s the insane part,” Bruce said ruefully. “While I was out, I think I met your parents.”

Dick’s head shot up, alarmed. “You _died?”_

“No, but apparently I was close enough to it that they could… visit me. And decided to hold an intervention.” He needed to process it before he could go through it again, but he would answer any questions Dick had.

Dick was looking at him with incredulous eyes, but every so often he would flick back to the letter he held in his hands.

“Go,” Bruce said softly.

Dick’s body made a jerking motion, as though it had automatically turned to go but part of him was still rooted to the stop.

“Trust me, it’s not going to be anything bad,” Bruce said, taking a guess at what was keeping Dick from opening it.

Dick chuckled wetly. “I’m not even sure if I believe your story,” he said, but a finger stroked along the letters forming his name, barely touching the paper.

And then he walked to the other end of the Cave, towards where the chasms were.

Tim, who had been watching this exchange, stepped closer. “Hey, B,” he said tentatively.

“Tim,” Bruce greeted. “How was patrol?”

Tim settled on the edge of his bed, legs swinging as he gave a detailed verbal report of the night. Bruce found himself swimming in and out of conscious, despite how strongly he tried to hold on to it.

He remembered what the Graysons had said, about emotional distance, about Tim needing an adult parental figure to look up to.

Bruce reached out and grabbed Tim’s hand, feeling him jump under Bruce’s grip. “Good job,” he said, watching the confusion turn to happiness.

Two words, a single action. That was all it took to make Tim smile. Bruce had always been disappointed - and _angry -_ at Tim’s father, but this was the first time he found that directed at himself as well.

* * *

Bruce had been permitted to rest in his room when he woke, and now he slipped between dozing and waking as he lay propped up on extra pillows. He was about to close his eyes again, sleep for another few hours, when the door creaked.

Bruce’s eyes were open instantly, but his body relaxed at the sight of Dick walking towards the bed. Bruce didn’t say anything as Dick walked around to the other side, settling himself beneath the covers beside him.

Normally, Bruce would wait him out, on the assumption that Dick would spill whatever it was he’d come in to say. But maybe he should be the one to start the conversation.

Bruce glanced at Dick’s face, judging his expression. It was pensive, eyes rimmed red, but altogether something he could handle.

“Dick?” he prompted, and was instantly at a loss about what to continue with.

“I read it,” Dick said before Bruce’s blood pressure could increase too much. He fiddled with the fabric of the sheets, thumbing at them absentmindedly.

Bruce gave what he hoped was an encouraging grunt, and Dick huffed a small laugh.

“I mean, unless you’ve – or _someone_ – went through and dug up maybe surveillance footage or shots of the three of us in someone else’s videos, there’s no way anyone else could’ve written it. There's too much inside knowledge.” He’d begun with the rational logic, as Bruce would have. Dick slumped further down the headboard, hugging a knee to his chest. “They, uh, they said they gave you a ‘stern talking to’?”

Bruce’s lips turned up at the corners. “They did,” he admitted. “Maybe I needed someone to say them to me.” Not that there hadn’t already been _plenty_ of people who’d implied or outright told Bruce over the years that he needed to see a shrink.

Dick huffed. “You know you have issues when people from the afterlife come to personally talk to you.”

Bruce was glad Dick was on his left; he lifted his good arm out from under the covers and placed it around Dick’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Dick made a surprised noise but followed through with the motion, taking care to place himself around Bruce’s wounds.

“They told me I should get therapy,” Bruce said frankly.

Dick laughed, the sound loud and surprised in the quiet of the room. Then, when he realised that Bruce hadn’t joined him, his eyes widened. “You’re serious?” he said. “My parents visited you while you were half dead, just to tell you to get some help? We’ve been telling you that for _years_!”

Bruce grimaced. “Like you said, you know you have issues when people from the afterlife come to speak with you.”

Dick was gaping, body now fully turned around. “You’re thinking of it?” There was something incredulous in his voice. “You’re actually thinking of going to therapy?”

Bruce nodded, mouth a thin line. “I made a promise, even if they didn’t hear it.”

“Wow,” Dick murmured, settling back beside him.

Everything quietened for a moment, and Bruce was almost dozing again. It was easier to give in to sleep when he was warm, with the weight of Dick a comforting presence beside him. It was strange to think that a year ago, he couldn’t have imagined having him back in the Manor, let alone on friendly terms _and_ having a civil conversation with Bruce that went beyond the current case.

Dick broke the silence, in such a low tone that Bruce had to strain to hear him. “Did you,” Dick cleared his throat, “y’know… like them?”

Of all the questions he’d thought Dick would ask, this hadn’t even been in the ballpark. “Of course I liked them,” he said. Now was the time to say something cheesy like _they gave me you_ , but that wasn’t right. The only reason they’d ‘given’ Bruce Dick was because they’d been murdered. “I was worried they wouldn’t like _me_.”

Dick had moved on from playing with the fabric to fiddling with Bruce’s hand, using the light from the window to make shadow puppets. “They said they’re happy, that I got to—that I—that—” His throat bobbed, hands stilling. “They’re happy I moved on, from their deaths. Proud. And they’re happy I have you and Alfred. And everyone else.” 

Bruce suddenly remembered another agreement he’d entered into with Dick’s mother. He tugged his hand out from Dick’s grip, Dick releasing it instantly and shifting his own closer to his body, as though he hadn’t even realised what he’d been doing, and moved his body to better position itself for a hug.

Dick was tense, hands coming around Bruce’s waist gingerly. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said, “but you’ve been surprisingly _open_ since you woke up. Maybe we should get J’onn to scan you for possession or something.”

His voice was only half joking.

This was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable hug, and Bruce wondered what it’d been about embraces before that had made them pleasant. Perhaps it was the broken ribs and stab wounds.

“I also promised your mother I’d give you hugs daily,” he admitted, and Dick fell back into the pillows laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> I drew some inspiration from [this set of panels](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/post/613384263549796352/batman-gotham-knights-16), about Bruce's mindset in meeting the Graysons. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! My bingo card is in the series description and I'm always up for a chat on [tumblr](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/)!!


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